


Second Chance

by DavinaCFox



Category: The Frighteners (1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Car Sex, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forgiveness, Guilt, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Masochism, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Rough Sex, S&M, Scars, Trauma, True Love, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DavinaCFox/pseuds/DavinaCFox
Summary: On the eve of his final case, Bethany Dammers recalls how she fell in love with Special Agent Milton Dammers, the father of their son Daniel. When he said he was taking a new case involving mysterious deaths in a small town, Beth didn't know it would be his last...Then Milton's colleague knocked on the door and Beth learned her husband had been shot.Four years later, Frank and Lucy return to their home town, now with twin daughters. Frank discovers Milton didn't die from the bullet wound inflicted by Patricia. He hurries to the house where the Dammers family now live,  and is met by 18 year old Daniel, who tells him his father has been in a coma since the shooting. Meanwhile, Beth catches up with Lucy, asking her how it feels to love the man who stepped aside so Milton could take his bullet...Then Frank is confronted by Milton's angry spirit , as he hopes he can unite Milton back with his body – if Beth Dammers will let him near her husband again...UPDATE : This fic is currently on hold, it takes a lot of focus to write in a new fandom, I have family illness on my mind, so I'm writing more of my very big familiar Gotham fic instead, when time permits, as an escape while times are uncertain.
Relationships: Frank Bannister/Lucy Lynskey, Milton Dammers/Original Female Character





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author Notes:  
> This fic wil be updated eventually, for now Im focussing on the 10th instalment of Irish Angel instead, because writing in a different fandom takes focus and I have family worries right now. But this will get completed eventually.
> 
> Hello Readers!  
> Please note:  
> This fic is AU and in part set before and (after) the events of the timeline of The Frighteners.  
> For the purpose of alterations needed to make this fic and to give Milton Dammers an altered outcome, Patricia doesn't shoot him with a shotgun – she shoots him with an 8.mm handgun instead. 
> 
> This fic came about for 3 reasons:
> 
> 1) Milton is cute (and brave) and needs some love - and deserves not to die in that shotgun scene! So he will get an epic love story in this fic.
> 
> 2) Frank Bannister is a truly nice guy!  
> There is NO way he would have ducked out of the line of fire planning to have Milton take the bullet instead and lose his life in the process. Frank is not a killer. And in part of this fic it will show that Frank definitely didn't think Milton would have taken that bullet instead, even by accident – its not an outcome he imagined would happen.
> 
> 3) The idea that Milton might have a wife and child somewhere – in my fic, I will tell the story of how he meets his wife and how she helps him to trust in love at last, after the years of abuse he has suffered ( yes, there's quite a bit told unflinchingly about Milton as a victim of abuse whilst undercover in this fic, too – be ready for that. He's been through horror, and it shows).
> 
> So this fic is Au in a lot of ways.
> 
> Those who know me from the Batman/Gotham fandoms know what to expect.
> 
> And new readers... oh, you are in for a treat!!!*  
> *Trust me, I'm a RL author!

Chapter 1

1996, before his last case...

The sun was shining down on the house where Milton Dammers lived with his wife and teenage son. Milton was in the bedroom packing a bag because he was leaving to take on a new case that – thankfully – did not seem to run the risk of him being abducted and tortured or worse by a cult – that was the only good thing about it, Beth had decided. Milton knew she worried about him when he left to take on another job that he couldn't talk about, he said they gave him all the fruity cases, and that was no exaggeration. His poor body was covered with scars from past ordeals, a result of his efforts to infiltrate and ultimately destroy dangerous cult activity. Back when she had been an FBI agent and they had been working in the same office, people had looked at Milton in one of two ways: It was either admiration for all _that poor bastard_ had been through, or they said he was _just plain fucking weird..._ But they both looked back on those early days with fondness, it was all part of their love story, a story quite unlike any other...

While she was folding clean laundry to take up to their son's room, Beth was thinking back to the 80s and year she and Milton had first met:

_A senior agent had yelled across the office about a late report and Milton had run from the room. Later on a memo had gone around advising the female staff NOT to yell at Dammers under any circumstance, because past trauma caused him to vomit if he was yelled at by women. So much gossip had gone around as people talked, as people did, wondering if this was linked to the imprisonment and torture he had suffered whilst bringing down death cults..._

_But no, he was afraid of women yelling because the one scar close to his eye was a permanent reminder of his violent ex wife, the marriage had been a mistake when Milton was very young, and that experience had left him scarred forever in more than one way. Apparently, later on, his ex had stabbed her second husband to death. Milton had a lucky escape..._

_Beth's colleagues had laughed at the two of them dating. They'd teased her, of course, liking creepy Milton Dammers. But it hadn't put her off. Beth genuinely liked him and she was determined to get closer to the man who never wanted anyone to venture into his personal space..._

_Her chance came one lunch break when she saw him go to the kitchen area, only to complain to a colleague that the sugar was gone. This had happened a few days back, too – and this time she was prepared._

_Dammers walked into his office then stood there, his dark eyes regarding the bag of sugar with deep mistrust. Then he looked up and saw her standing in the doorway._

“ _W...why?” he asked nervously as he broke into a sweat._

“ _You ran out,” she reminded him, “So I got you some more.”_

“ _Oh...” he looked down at the sugar and gave a small nod._

“ _Thank you, Bethany.”_

“ _You can call me Beth.”_

_He blinked, taking in her shapely figure in her black skirt and jacket, with her fair hair tied back. She was pretty. He thought about the scars on his body. Guessed she would never want to see those..._

“ _Thank you, Beth,” he said, giving a small, brief and nervous smile, then he took the sugar through to the kitchen area and Beth didn't see him again that day._

_On Friday, after a day spent on paperwork that was very unglamorous and nothing like the kind of tasks outsiders imagined the FBI to be assigned, it was almost time to leave the office. Milton had worked late in his own private room, it was full of pictures and evidence from gruesome crimes he had been working on, and many of the images he had pinned to the board on the wall had more than one often horrific or bloody leaning towards black magic._

“ _Working late?”_

_Milton's body gave a jolt on hearing her voice fill the room and he dropped the stack of papers he held in his arms. They fluttered to the floor as he stood there looking at her, dark eyes wide as deep pools, sweat shining nervously on pale skin, his hair neatly styled but looking severe because of the way he gelled it so flat to his head._

“ _You startled me, Beth!”_

_She stepped into the room, remembering his thing about his personal space, and kept her voice soft. Poor Milton looked like a nervous wreck. He gathered up the papers into an untidy heap and dumped them on a chair, then he backed off several paces until he collided with the desk._

“ _Can I...do something for you?” he smiled again, a smile made entirely of nervousness._

_Beth was determined. Milton would be a challenge, but she had every good intention. And she knew all about the torture he had suffered whilst infiltrating the cult. They had carved symbols into his body, left him scarred for life. The worst part had been the sexual harm done to him, so many repeated assaults. And right after that case, he had gone into another that had seen him savagely tortured again, and he could have called for back up, but he did not, and that time, the poor guy was held prisoner and violated many times. She felt a little guilty for accessing his personal files, but how else would she come close to understanding how to be around a guy who had suffered so much damage? But there was more, so much more to find out and at the time she just hadn't known it yet..._

Beth pulled herself out of thoughts of the past, of her asking him for a ride home, of how the rain had come down hard as they parked up in the darkened driveway, and of how a cautious kiss had led to another as Milton looked at her in wonder... but then, she couldn't resist remembering that first time again before coming back to the present:

“ _Really?” he had whispered._

_She had given him no time to answer, kissing him in reply as she slid on to his lap and her skirt had rode up to her thighs as she told him he was brave and awesome, a hero and the wounds on his body were testament to that. Moments later the car was rocking and the windows steaming as she rode him hard and Milton had very quickly lost control as he gasped her name, coming hot and hard inside her, then he had hugged her, keeping her there inside him as his cock had started to go soft. For the next ten minutes he had clung to her, his head on her shoulder as he wept. That was the day she had known she was in love with the strange Agent Dammers who was actually very sweet... He stayed shy, too. Didn't take his clothes off for those first encounters in his car. It was another week before he invited her over for dinner, but he placed roses on her desk at work in front of their colleagues. She was teased all week, and she did not give a shit about those who didn't get it - she saw so much more to Milton, and it made her heart sing..._

Now her thoughts were back in the present in 1996 as she carried their fourteen year old son's laundry upstairs in a neatly folded pile. Daniel Dammer's door was half open and she went in quietly, placing the laundry on a chair by the wall then she stopped, staring at her son, who was sitting at his desk, his laptop switched off while he poured over a book.

_Not just any book._

It was book on the torture of witches, and had some very graphic images inside it...and this was a reference book -belonging to Milton, who owned a LOT of stuff about torture.

_And now Danny was reading it?_

_He was fourteen!_

“You filthy little bastard! Oh my god you're just like your Dad!” she exclaimed.

Danny turned to her, a not too tall, and rather slim young man with his father's jet back hair and equally dark eyes. He looked at her in alarm.

“Have you gone crazy, Mom? It's just a _history_ book!”

She went over to his desk, saw a drawing of an accused witch spread naked while a torture instrument called the Pear was inserted in the vagina, yawing it wide. She had long ago found out Milton's dedication to a job that sometimes caused him pain and suffering had got out of hand _and_ got him addicted to stuff that was much, much worse – he was now hooked on pain and there could be no pleasure without it...Yes, he wanted to make the world a safer place and he wasn't afraid to take a risk, he was dedicated to doing his job and serving his country no matter the cost to himself – but it went deeper. Ever since that first incident when he was kept by a cult as a sex slave, he had wanted more of it. He wanted to bring it into the bedroom. It wasn't the torture that had done it to him, more like it had amplified that which was already there – her Milt was a serious masochist, always had been...

_But there was no fucking way their son was taking the same route!_

She slammed the book shut loudly.

“ _I'm telling your father!”_

“ _But Mom -”_

“ _No buts. I'm telling him, this is wrong, Daniel!”_

“No yelling...Please!”

Milton had stated that quietly and fearfully as he entered the room, and as she saw his pained expression, love and apology filled her eyes.

“Our son has been reading one of your books from the library – your research library.”

“ _Oh.”_

Milton reached for the book and drew it away from his son's desk.

“That is forbidden. Do you understand me, son?”

Danny looked pleadingly at his Dad.

“But Dad, let me explain -”

“No explanation is needed!” Milton said firmly, “I'm leaving tonight to work on a case. While I am gone, my study will be locked and you will _not_ have access to the key!”

“But Dad, I just need to explain -”

“ _No!”_ Milton said harshly as he fixed his wide, dark gaze on his son, “This conversation is over. I'm immensely disappointed in you! I do _not_ look at this kind of stuff gleefully thinking about the images of the poor women going through hell!”

 _No, Milton,_ Beth thought quietly, _You just like to get ideas for stuff you want me to do to you!_

Milton left the room, taking the book with him.

“Mom, it's not what it looks like! I need to explain to Dad -”

“You can talk to your father later, he's got to leave, he has work to do!” Beth reminded him, and then she left the room, closing the door behind her.

A short while later, as Danny watched from his bedroom window feeling sad that his Dad had snapped at him before he left, Beth stood in the driveway as the skies darkened, as Milton loaded his cases into the back of the car. Then he opened the door and pulled a rubber ring from his coat and set it down carefully on the driver's seat. While it looked comical, it was not. Finally, after years of pain – the kind of pain that even he couldn't stand – Milton had decided, with her encouragement, to have surgery to repair the damage done to his ass from his time held in captivity. It had taken weeks for the repair to heal, and even now, he still needed a rubber ring when he sat down to drive.

“Please be careful!”

“Always,” he assured her as they stood together by the open car door.

She reached for him and he stepped into her embrace, his gaze meeting hers as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and holding her tight as he covered her mouth with a deep and passionate kiss that ended too soon.

“Don't worry about me, I'll be home soon,” he said, and then he braced himself for the pain, sat down cautiously in the drivers seat and closed the door. He glanced at her through the window. She wanted to kiss him again, but he had started up the engine.

And then her Milt drove away into the darkening night, planning to take the train to the small town that was his destination, he could have flown, he said but he had a bad feeling about the plane. And so he was driving to the station, leaving his car there and picking up a hire car at the end of his journey. Beth watched as his car drove out of sight, feeling that same old familiar sense of dread she always got when Milton took off on another case.

“Be safe, my love,” she whispered, and then she went back inside and closed the door and as the sound of it echoed about the hallway, she felt so alone without him...

That night she still felt alone as she got into bed and turned out the light. Milton said he would call when he reached the hotel, but that was hours away. Before bed, her son had tried to talk to her, again protesting that he wasn't looking at dirty pictures. _Like father like son,_ she had thought, and told him to go to bed. Now she was alone in the bedroom she shared with Milton as so many memories flooded her mind:  
_Years ago, her first night here, with him – they had laid side by side, on their backs, she was naked, he was in a bathrobe that he had tied carefully to cover his scarred chest. There was a space between them where their fingers touched, and as their hands shifted closer they met, and then they were lying there holding hands, looking up at the ceiling._

“ _I feel safe with you,” he whispered, and that was all she needed to know as tears of joy filled her eyes and she shifted closer and intensity took over his gaze as they began to kiss. Then his hand had reached for hers, stopping her from opening up his bathrobe, and for a moment she had seen fleeting panic in his eyes._

“ _It's a mess,” he said as his voice trembled, “A real road map of pain! And none of this was self inflicted...” he shifted closer, still covering his scars, “But I won't lie, Beth... I found some of the cutting arousing -I like to be hurt! There were many times I could have called for back up and ended the torture, but by the time I wanted to do that, it was too late...” his face paled. Pain reflected in his gaze, “On my final cult infiltration job, I'd got caught up deep in the sado masochistic side of the group. I won't lie, it was good and bad at the same time.. a bonus to my work, if you see what I mean. But then...” he caught his breath, tears glazing his pitch dark eyes as he looked at her. As he spoke again his voice trembled and this had nothing to do with pleasure, it was quite the opposite. She saw absolute trauma there in his gaze._

“ _I...I was raped! Multiple times! The three male leaders took turns and then the woman who ranked along side them joined in - with a bottle! I was bleeding, screaming... I still have nightmares about it!”_

_Beth's heart was breaking for all he had been through._

“ _That's why you have the scars... down there?”_

_He nodded._

“ _Scars, haemorrhoids, it's a mess. Sometimes just going to the bathroom is agony! I could have it repaired surgically, but I don't think I can face more pain in that region, Bethany!”_

_She drew in a deep breath, sitting up as he turned on his back._

“ _Show me.”_

_Panic shone in his gaze._

“ _You...you don't want to see my body!”_

“ _Yes I do,” she said softly, stroking his cheek as she looked into his eyes, “I want to kiss the pain and the bad memories away from every scar on your body, I love you.”_

_He hesitated_

“ _It's okay,” she whispered, and as he reached to open his robe, his hands trembled._

_Milton was sweating hard as he opened up the robe, exposing his torso and the many symbols cruelly carved on it. But as she started to kiss each mark on his body and whisper that he was a brave man, and he was her hero, his fears melted away, replaced by tears of joy. She knew he was quietly weeping but took her time, working up over his damaged chest, and when she had kissed up this throat, she wiped away his tears and lay beside him, pulling him closer as they shared gentle kisses slowly, taking their time, as he felt all unease slide away._

“ _I love you!” he wept as another tear ran down his cheek, and she responded by kissing him again._

_That night she had kissed every inch of his body, even having him turn over so she could spread his ass and kiss his damaged hole that had been so cruelly ravaged years before. He couldn't take more than one cautious finger deep inside as she took his cock in her mouth and slowly and tenderly sucked. He gasped and shivered and whimpered and when he finally came, he caught his breath, sighing it out as he whispered her name. She swallowed him hot and fast and then his pleasure was spent. They lay together with nothing but the moon outside to light the room a hue of silver as she looked into his eyes and he felt safe wrapped in her loving embrace..._

And now he was gone again, and it was the same old story every time – he went off on a job exposing himself to danger for the safety of his country, and Beth was left at home, waiting and worrying and wondering how much more physical or emotional damage he would come back with this time...

The news had reached her on a rainy night, late when Daniel was asleep in bed and Beth was still up, waiting for a call from her husband – a call that never came.

_Now it was gone midnight._

_She knew._

_A cold feeling of dread had wrapped about her heart._

When she heard the knock at the door, she made her way slowly down the hall, passing pictures on the wall of happier times. Their wedding day. Daniel as a baby, cradled by Milton as he looked proudly into the camera...

She opened the door.

Emily was standing there, her former colleague, who often helped Milton at the office. And she knew at once as she saw the look in her eyes. Emily formerly broke the news that her husband had been shot in the line of duty, and then instead of inviting her in, all Beth could think to do was step outside, into the rain, as she and Emily embraced and cried together.

It was Emily who helped put the pieces of her shattered life back into something functional that night, right after they had gone inside and she had sat her down and poured her a drink and told her exactly what had happened.

It turned out former psychopath Patricia Bradley had gone nuts all over again and embarked on a killing spree that she claimed was orchestrated by her dead boyfriend, murderer Johnny Bartlett. It seemed Milton had been convinced a local paranormal investigator named Frank Bannister was to blame for the killings – but Milton had been wrong. And as Bannister had fled the killer's sights, Milton had been standing close by, and he had caught the bullet intended for Bannister...

Emily had said that earlier, after killing her own mother, Patricia had been armed with a shotgun. But she ran out of shells and instead, had armed herself with an 8mm handgun, that decision was the reason why Milton was still alive, and the fact that she had shot him at a distance. The bullet had punched into his skull and he was in a bad way, but he was still alive. Emily told Beth she had arranged for a flight to take her and Daniel to his bedside tonight, because they couldn't waste time. Fortunately, the small town where Milton had been based for the investigation was a short distance from a hospital that specialised in head injuries. This was another reason why he was still alive – that and the fact that after Patricia had been dealt with, Doctor Lucy Lynskey had tended to Frank's injuries, and then Frank had told her Agent Dammers had been shot. She had raised the alarm and tended to Milton until the ambulance arrived. At the time it was yet to sink in, Beth had yet to draw the conclusion that her husband was critically injured because he had taken a bullet intended for Frank Bannister – but there was no time to think about anything as Daniel came into the room blinking away sleep, asking his Mom why she was crying.

“ _Your Dad's been shot!”_ she wept, and that was when she felt the impact of the news: Her Milton was hurt, really hurt, and despite all the horror he had been through in the past, doing a dangerous job to protect his country, this time it was different. This time, he might not survive...

Year 2000, Four Years Later:

“ _Are we there yet, are we there yet?”_ as the voices of Abigail and Rose chimed up from the back of the car, Frank exchanged a smile with his wife Lucy and he looked into the back, where the twins were sitting in their seats, both girls identical and both with his eyes and dark hair like his wife. They had been together three months when Lucy fell pregnant, and after all the unwanted attention from the press over the paranormal investigator and the local doctor who had solved a murder mystery, they had decided to leave town until memories grew distant. But now they were back, because there was no place as good as home, and this town would be a great place to raise the twins...

“Almost,” Frank told his daughters, “Not far to go now.”

“I want to see the new house!” said Abigail.

“Is it like our old house?” asked Rose.

“No, it's not like out old house,” Lucy added as she kept her eyes on the road and they took the route past the coast as the twins looked out at water that sparked as sunlight danced on it, “Our old house was tiny, and in the city. This house is bigger and you will have a garden!”

Franks smile had faded as they headed towards town, now he was thinking about his old place, the one he had sold before leaving town with Lucy four years back. He was thinking about his late wife and how he had turned that basketball court into a garden after her death – he hoped the new owners had taken care of that garden. But the new place had a lot of room, the house was old but in good condition and there was a lawn and flowerbeds and plenty of roses, too. He had already told Lucy he would plant more roses, in memory of his late wife, feeling sure she would be smiling down in approval.

Frank had a lot of mixed feelings about returning to this town. After all the horror of the clash with the murderous spirit of Johnny Bartlett and the equally insane Patricia Bradley, and the fuss made by the media and local people after it was over, all he had wanted to do was get away. And he could still recall the moment he had ducked out of the line of Patricia's fire and instead of diving for cover, stunned Agent Dammers, who he had assumed was more than trained to dodge a bullet, had frozen in shock and taken that bullet to the head. Frank had seen Patricia lower her smoking gun with a crazed look in her eyes, he had seen Milton Dammers fall with a bloody hole punched into the side of his head. Then he had run for his life because Patricia gave chase, the gun still in her hand... 

Leaving town had seemed like the best thing to do at the time. He didn't doubt folks around here would soon bring up the past, slapping him on the back and calling him a hero, but eventually, the subject of Agent Dammers would arise. When he had left town the poor guy had been in the hospital, somewhere between life and death and showing little hope of recovering. 

He still felt guilty about the choice he made that day. He had never intended for Milton to take a bullet. Frank was ready to hear the news now he was back, expecting it go something along the lines of,  _ Agent Dammers passed away a week after you left town, Frank...  _ That was what he was expecting to hear. 

He and Lucy had only ever talked about Milton Dammers once. Frank had heard all about how Dammers had arrested her, whilst still believing him to be the killer, and taken her for a ride to the cemetery where he had intended to keep her until morning, to ensure Frank never woke up after his out of body experience brought on by the freezer unit. She had told him how Milton had ranted half panicked as he spoke of his traumatic experiences of torture and abuse by dangerous cults. He had got out of the car and ripped open his shirt to expose the scars on his chest as pain reflected in his eyes, before trying to summon some of that mind power he so believed to be real. Frank had asked her, _ Do you think he would have harmed you?  _

_ No, _ she had said, _ he was a very damaged person and he needed to justify why he wanted to let you die. He believed you were the killer, and that I was clueless to your guilt. I don't hate him for what he did, I pity him for what he's been through. He was a very damaged individual, and all in the name of doing his job and taking down dangerous organisations. _

And that was all they had ever discussed regarding Dammers arresting Lucy and holding her captive. It seemed he was determined to protect her, believing her oblivious to what he saw as Frank's guilt. 

Before they had left town, Frank had heard the news:

_ Milton Dammers had a family. _

_ He had a wife and son. _

That had been a real blow, and he had hated himself for that fact being such a shock – just because he was odd and behaved strangely, something he had learned was a result of the traumas he had been through - it didn't mean he was all alone in this world and he knew he never should have assumed that. He hadn't seen a wedding ring on Milton's finger, but Milton wore gloves – Lucy had said because he hated the swastika carved into his palm, another legacy from the days of torture whilst held captive by a dangerous cult.

_Frank had found out about Dammers having a family on the day Lucy had told him she was pregnant. He had blinked away tears as she had hugged him, reminding him the shooting had been an accident on his part and ultimately, the fault of the person behind the trigger – Patricia Bradley. But Frank had still felt he was to blame, and he was sure he always would..._

They reached their destination, right before the van pulled up with the furniture. While Lucy got the kids out of the car and watched as they ran excitedly through the open gate and up a pathway that led around the side of the house to a wide lawn she called out, telling the kids to be careful, and then she was up the path and then on the front lawn watching them joyfully explore together as Frank stepped aside after telling the removal guys to be careful with a box of glassware marked  _ fragile _ .

Just then, a cop car pulled up and as Frank turned to see the familiar face of the man driving, he smiled.

“How are you, Frank?” asked Sheriff Perry.

“I'm doing good,” Frank replied, smiling again as he glanced over at Lucy, who hurried into the back garden to tell the girls to keep out of the way of the furniture as a large sofa was taken around the back way.

“It's good to see you back,” said Perry, “I hope you plan to stay, the town's not been the same without you, Frank.”

“Lucy's got a job at the hospital and I'm probably going to go back to what I do best,” he told him, “Paranormal investigation, if this town still has trouble with spirits.”

“I heard a rumour you were planning on writing a book about the Bradley murders,” Perry replied, “If that's true, I do hope you'll drop my name in it, I'd be more than happy to give you access to all the police files you need.”

Frank felt caught out. Yes, he  _ was _ planning to write a book – purely to lay the whole episode in his life to rest, then he planned to get back to his old job and if anyone ever asked him about the murders, he could just refer them to the book and suggest they buy it... 

“Thanks, I'll let you know what I need,” he replied.

Sheriff Perry looked curiously at Frank, then to the house across the street part shaded by the heavy boughs of trees that cast the place in semi gloom.

“You did know, when you bought your place?”

“Know what?”Frank asked.

Perry waited until the guys returned to the van, then took away more boxes and headed for the house, then he replied in a lowered voice.

“ _They moved here permanently. They live over there_ .”

He indicated to the house.

“Who?” Frank asked.

“ _The Dammers family.”_

Frank blinked.

“You mean Milton's widow and son moved here? They decided to stay in the town where he died?  _ Why _ would they do that?”

“He didn't die,” said Perry, and Frank's face paled as his words hit hard, “Milton Dammers survived that bullet. Didn't you know?”

Frank could only shake his head as he looked wide eyed at Perry, then to the house across the street.

“It's a sad situation -”

Perry cut off right there as a speeding car weaved about the road and shot past him.

“Sorry Frank, I've got to go – I've a damn drunk driver to catch! I'll talk with you later!”

The siren was on as Perry drove off with a screech of tires. 

There was a clumsy thud somewhere in the house as he heard Lucy call out to the removal guys to be careful. By the way the sound of breaking glass had followed the thud, he guessed there would be a lot of damage to the glassware, but Lucy was already heading into the house as the twins followed her. He looked over at the house across the street.

_ Milton Dammers was still alive? _

He drew in a deep breath and made his decision:

There was a wrong that needed to be put right - he needed to tell him he was sorry about the shooting, and this couldn't wait. Frank Bannister crossed the street and headed for the house half hidden by shady trees...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Beth Dammers had just turned a corner and was driving towards home. She slowed the car as she saw the removal van on the other side of the street. Then she parked her vehicle and stared at the woman who was reprimanding one of the movers for the mess they had made as she dumped a box on the path and the sound of broken glass filled the air.

_It couldn't be..._

_It was!_

She glared at the woman who stood there in a summer dress as a breeze shifted the ends of her long dark hair... It was Frank Bannister's wife, Doctor Lucy Lynskey...  _ Okay, so she had taken care of Milton after the shooting, until the ambulance had turned up... but she was still the woman who had married Frank, had kids with Frank, the guy who had stepped aside and let her Milt take a bullet for him!  _

Anger was rising sharply as she got out of the car, and she let that anger rise. She slammed the car door heavily and began to walk over to Lucy, who had just sent the kids into the garden and was looking rather flustered after speaking sternly to the guys who had broken the box of glassware. She looked about the street, saw no sign of Frank, then gave an exasperated sigh, feeling stressed out by the move, and knowing she couldn't watch the twins  _ and _ oversee the handling of every item from the van to the house at the same time...

“ _Hey.”_

That  _ Hey _ was not a _ Hey neighbour, nice to meet you _ , kind of a hey... it was more like,  _ hey, fucker _ ...

Lucy turned around, meeting with the angry glare of a woman in a dark blue dress with fair hair that fell to her shoulders. She had never seen her before and she looked angry...

“Is there a problem?” Lucy asked.

“I guess not – as far as you're concerned,” she said accusingly, “But I live across the street,” she indicated to the house shaded by trees, “With my son. And my husband... I'm Bethany Dammers, Milton's wife! I just came over here to take a look at  _ you _ , the person who thinks it's fine to live with and have kids with, the man who left  _ my  _ husband to take a bullet for him!”

Lucy stared at Beth. The twins had come over to say hi, but had gone silent, sensing this was not a happy situation. Lucy felt Abigail tug at her skirt.

“In a minute, sweetie...” she said, still looking at Beth as she swiftly realised why she clearly hated her.

“Listen, Beth – we shouldn't do this in front of the kids...maybe I can come over and talk to you later about what happened that day. Me and Frank didn't even know Milton was still alive, we left town and -”

“You left because you didn't care!” Beth said angrily as she blinked back tears.

“ _That's not true! We didn't know -”_

“ _Yes you did, that's why you left!”_

The heated exchange of words went on.

Across the street, somewhere far off, Frank thought he heard two women arguing, but he was beneath the shady trees that whispered as the breeze sighed through and he guessed somewhere in this neighbourhood, two women were having a hell of a quarrel... he couldn't imagine where it was coming from, this neighbourhood had always seemed  _ so _ peaceful...

He went up to the front door and knocked. As Frank stood there, he felt more than a little apprehensive. It had been four years. Milton had taken a bullet meant for him, and he had never expected that outcome to happen when Patricia had raised the gun and prepared to fire and he had ducked. He had never expected a man of Milton's training and expertise to have stood there as the gun went off – but he had not known Patricia was standing there... Frank didn't want to think about it any more. He just wanted to apologise and explain everything.

He was about to knock again when the door opened.

It wasn't Milton Dammers.

This was a young guy, in his late teens. He stood there in a dark t shirt and faded blue jeans as his dark hair hung in his eyes, and those eyes were so dark they were almost pitch black. Eyes like Milton... was this his son?

“Oh my god...” the young guy said, as anger crept into his voice as he recognised the face of the caller, “No, it can't be... You've got a fucking nerve to come over here, Bannister!”

Frank held up his hands as he spoke calmly, hoping to diffuse the anger he saw in the eyes of Milton's son.

“I didn't come here for a fight. I didn't even know Milton survived the bullet wound. I left town, I'd assumed...” Frank shook his head, knowing to say more on that would just add fuel to the fire, “I've been away,” he added, “As soon as I heard Milton was alive, I had to come over and see him. I just want to see him. Please let me in, I need to explain. I really want to talk to your Dad.”

As he blinked, Daniel Dammers rage was gone, replaced by sadness.

“So do I,” he replied coldly, “But I can't talk to him, no one can. He's been in a coma since the shooting. Since he took a bullet that was meant for  _ you _ .”

Frank stared at him.

Four years of his own feelings of guilt couldn't have hit him as hard as that statement made by Milton's son. Those words had slammed home sure as a fist in his face as he stood there looking at the son who had lost years with his father over the shooting – and Frank had never felt the guilt weigh heavier.

“ _It was an accident.”_

As anger flashed in his dark eyes, Daniel Dammers looked just like his father.

“ _An accident? He was shot by a psychopath!”_

“Yes, by Patricia Bradley –  _ not _ by me! I saw him behind me. She was a distance in front of me as she raised the gun. I ducked and ran – I thought your Dad would do the same, he's FBI, this is the kind of situation he's trained for!”

Frank paused, taking a deep breath.

“It was mistake on my part. I never should have left him in the line of fire. I assumed he knew she was there... obviously, he didn't see her until it was too late.”

“And it's your word against his,” Daniel replied, “ But he can't speak for himself.... Maybe you set it all up, you wanted him dead because he blamed you for the killings – or was it something else, Bannister? Were you mad at him because he arrested Lucy? Was it personal?”

“ _No, it wasn't!”_ Frank protested.

Then as soon as he had raised his voice he lowered it again, remembering what Perry had told him.

“I heard the whole family lives here... I take it that means he's here, that you care for him at home?”

“Why do you give a shit?” Daniel demanded, “You're the one who did this to him!”

Hurt reflected in his eyes. Frank knew there was nothing to be gained by turning this into a fight, and the last thing he wanted to do was come over here to cause trouble.

“I'm really sorry about what happened. That's why I came over, to tell you I'm sorry. Can I speak to your mother?”

“She's out, but she should be back soon...” he glanced over Frank's shoulder, catching sight of his mother across the street, yelling at...yes, that was Lucy! He smirked.

“Mom will be right over, as soon as she's finished telling  _ your _ wife what she thinks of her,” his eyes narrowed, “I don't think your family will be living in this street very long, Bannister. You made a big mistake moving to our neighbourhood. I'll make sure  _ everyone _ knows what you did!”

He closed the door.

Frank turned sharply and hurried back out of the shade, looking in alarm at the sight across the street as Lucy and Mrs Dammers yelled at each other. Now they were so close to shoving or pushing or swinging a punch that the kids were far back in the garden and two of the guys moving the furniture were looking on, ready to pull them apart if it got physical.

“ _Oh shit!”_ he gasped, and ran out of the gate, darted across the street and pushed past the removal guys and stepped in between his wife and the angry woman who had just yelled that Frank Bannister had tried to kill her husband.

“If you have a problem with me, take it up with me!” Frank said firmly.

“No, I'm not going to stand back and have this woman trash your name, Frank!” Lucy exclaimed.

Now Lucy was standing beside Frank, her hand on his arm as she readied herself to step in front of him, to put herself between him and Beth Dammers. Beth looked from Lucy to Frank and shook her head as hurt and anger shone in her eyes.

“I don't see why you want your wife to step aside,” she said bitterly, “You were only too happy to step aside yourself when a bullet was coming your way, Frank. I don't know how you sleep at night knowing you wrecked my husband's life, and the lives of his family!”

She turned away and walked off, crossing the street and heading for home. Frank watched her leave, wanting to call her back, needing to explain – but he knew he would have no better luck with her than he had with Milton's son – they both blamed him for what had happened.

“Leave it,” Lucy said.

“But I need to put this right!”

“I said, leave it!” Lucy repeated, glancing in the direction of their twin girls who stood there by the lawn, looking on in confusion.

“It's okay,” Frank called to his daughters, “It was nothing, go and play.”

“Who was the angry lady?” asked Rose.

Thankfully her sister tugged at her hand, then the two of them turned away, distracted by the new garden and all the space they had to play in. Frank didn't know where to begin to explain to his young daughters why that confrontation had just happened.

“The Dammers family live across the street?” Lucy said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“If I'd known that before we bought this place, I would have insisted we keep looking,” Frank replied, “I didn't know he was still alive, Lucy! All I want to do is go over there and apologise -”

“It wasn't your fault,” fondness shone in her soft gaze as she stood there on the path, looking into the eyes of her husband, “You're not to blame. It was a bad set of circumstances. I get why the family blame you - they had to blame someone and Patricia's dead! When I look back on what I recall of Dammers, he wasn't a bad guy – he just got it wrong, Frank - he was wrong about you, and because he didn't pick up on Patricia, she was there to pull the trigger and he got shot, and you can't change that.”

He looked over at the house across the street feeling a sting of regret that refused to let up.

“I know that, but it doesn't make it any easier to live with,” he said, and then he followed his wife into the house, where he tried to be enthusiastic for the sake of the kids, but this was  _ not _ the way he had planned to spend the first day in their new home – and things wouldn't get any easier, he was sure of it. He still wanted to put things right, but didn't know where to start. 

As night fell, Danny walked along the upper hallway, pausing by the open door to the spare room. This was the room where his Dad stayed, next to the room he used to share with his Mom, and sometimes, he would pass by that door late at night to see her on the bed on top of the covers, with her arm around him. She was taking a real risk. His father tossed and turned like a sleeper trapped in a bad dream, and he wasn't at all weak, sometimes he struggled, sometimes he lashed out. They had been told he was on the brink of waking up - but he never quite managed to do so. The doctors had said it was a complicated head injury. Sometimes Danny had seen his Dad's eyes start to open, then they would close again.

He had gone through times when he feared he would never wake, and his Mom always reminded him not to give up. She was sure he would come back to them both, she had told him that so many times, because she refused to give up. Danny didn't want to give up either. But he missed talking to his Dad and as crazy as it seemed, he wanted him to know, on that day he had left on his last case, when he had been angry with him over looking through that book on torture – his parents had got it wrong. He was doing research for a history project. He wanted his Dad to know that, even though it had been four years. As he looked in the open doorway, his mother was siting on the edge of the bed, holding his Dad's hand as she spoke quietly to him. She paused and looked at her son.

“Say goodnight to your father,” she reminded him.

He felt hollow inside as he ached for both his parents to be here, for his Dad to be awake just like his Mom.

“Goodnight, Dad,” he said, and then he went to his room and closed the door softly behind him. 

“Do you know who I saw today?” Beth said softly as she ran her hand over Milton's hair. He turned his head, taking in a rapid breath as his body tensed. For a moment he held her hand tighter, then he relaxed again as he lay beneath sheets that were down to his waist as the cool night air came in through the open window, exposing the livid, terrible scars on his chest.

“I saw,” she said, pausing to place her hand on his cheek, “That fucker Bannister! Frank Bannister, the guy who let you take a bullet! He's moved in across the street with his doctor wife and their two kids... I told him what I thought of him! I told her, too!”

She kept her voice soft as she stroked his cheek, always mindful and hopeful that he could hear her, and aware that he feared raised, angry female voices. So she had spelled it all out gently to him, holding back on her anger at the Bannister's moving in across the street as she told him the facts tenderly.

“I told Lucy exactly what I thought of her. I don't know how she can be with him, raising a family when she knows what he's done! Can you hear me, Milt?”

The lamp beside the bed began to flicker. Then she heard a rattle and looked in alarm at the sight of bottles of medication on the night stand shaking and chattering as the surface shook.

“What the hell..” she whispered, and as the bulb blew with a pop, the lamp went out, leaving the room in darkness.

“It's just a bulb, Milton,” she said as she got up and turned on the main light, pausing to turn the dimmer switch down low. There was an electrical hum as the light stuttered, went off and came back on again.

The window slammed and she gasped, the shock of it had sent a jolt through her bones. Beth opened up the window again, paused to check it was secure and tried not to think about how that window had been firmly up and there had been no wind, no reason for it to slam...

Milton tossed and turned, his hand clawed at the sheets, crushing them in a tight grip as he breathed hard as if fighting an invisible enemy.

“Shh, it's okay, I'm here,” she said as she returned to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm, gently restraining him. He stopped struggling, turning his head as he gave a sigh and relaxed once more. Beth sat down on the bed, then turned on her side and lay beside him as she placed a hand on his cheek, and as he gave a sigh and instantly seemed more restful, she felt hopeful he was aware of her presence.

“I love you, Milton,” she said softly, “You're safe, you're home. I'm here.”

And while she lay beside him, she was unaware that the spirit of Milton Dammers stood by the window, his form glowing translucent blue as he glared angrily at his body trapped in the bed. He had tried so many times to get back inside it, but it was a fight and it left him exhausted. Those lights, that bulb and that window had all been him, trying to show Beth how angry he was to know Bannister was living across the street. He wanted to go over to his house and give him a haunting he would never forget – but he was literally tied to his body by a glowing cord, and it wouldn't break, and he couldn't get any further than the bedroom door without it dragging him back. He wasn't sure if he was dead or still alive, maybe this was some kind of limbo... and it was hell. And he blamed Bannister for it... He glared angrily out through the window, resenting the presence of the man who had been responsible for him taking a bullet to the head, a bullet that had left him half dead, trapped here like...  _ a ghost _ . 

“My time will come, Bannister!” he said in a low voice, but Beth couldn't hear him as she lay beside his body and he turned and tensed and breathed out hard, a physical reaction to the stress felt by his spirit.

The next few days passed uneasily for Frank Bannister. They were settling in to the new house – or supposed to be, and he had tried not to seem jumpy when Lucy laid her hand on his shoulder in the middle of the night intending to kiss him softly, but he had almost jumped out of his skin as he thought about that house part hidden by trees, and wondered why he felt as if the place was haunted...

He had also spent way too long at the window, looking across the street. He half expected to see Milton Dammers glaring at him in fury – but that was impossible, Milton was in a coma... _Why_ did he feel as if his ghost was haunting him at a distance?

And then there was the guilt. He had always felt responsible for what had happened. He never talked about it, because Lucy always reminded him that it was simply a set of unfortunate circumstances. But he felt differently. His body had been peppered by shots Dammers had fired, intending to take him down, believing him to be the killer. Even that wasn't enough for Frank to wish him dead, he just wanted to stop him getting in the way of stopping the real killers. If only he had seen the truth of the matter – but hindsight was pointless, this was the situation, this was how it had turned out and all the regret in the world didn't change a thing. And he _still_ felt like something angry was watching him from that house across the street...

It was distracting.

He couldn't even finish breakfast as they sat around the table, the kids were laughing and chattering and soon he would have to watch them while Lucy did her shift at work. He was supposed to be starting the book, but instead the room he had turned into his study had only seen a stack of his new business cards placed there – cards that advertised his services as a paranormal investigator. The girls had found them and scattered them over the carpet. Frank was returning to his old job alone – his ghostly companions were at rest now, and the cemetery was quiet, he sensed it – all of the unrest in days gone by had ceased, and with no ghostly companions to put on some hauntings, his chances of work were limited. The town was very quiet these days, a peaceful town was a good thing – apart from the fact that no one needed to hire his services. And it was hard, starting that book. Especially with the vibe he got from that house across the street...

The girls had left the table. Lucy reached across and gently touched his arm. He met her gaze.

“Don't,” she said, instinctively knowing that dark place his thoughts had shifted to, “Don't think about Dammers. You've got to stop blaming yourself!”

“I can't,” he replied with raw honestly, “I know he got shot because of me.”

Lucy gave a sigh.

“I have to go to work,” she reminded him, “I'll call you later.”

Then she kissed his cheek as she got up and left the table, leaving Frank sat there alone, still caught up in thoughts of the past.

He got up and started to clear the table.

And then she skipped past him, a small girl who looked to be a little younger than the twins. She wore a white dress, her dark hair fell to her shoulders, and she was shimmering blue and translucent...

_This house had a ghost?_

_Since when?_

_They had been here for days and he had seen nothing until now..._

The ghost girl stopped and turned to him.

“Hi!” she said brightly.

Frank looked down at her in surprise.

“Hi,” he said, “Where did you come from?”

“Over there,” she replied, and skipped through the wall as Frank opened up the back door, stepped outside, then hurried up the path in pursuit of the small ghost. He watched as she headed for the gate, then he followed her and she stopped, turning back towards him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Grace,” she replied with a smile.

Frank looked at her intently : The white dress and the blue ribbon in her hair did nothing to place the era of her death, she looked timeless.

“Where did you say you live?” he asked her again.

And she pointed to the Dammer's house.

“Over there,” she told him.

“On your own?”

She shook her head.

“Do you know you're a ghost?” he asked.

She giggled.

“Yes!”

She smiled brightly.

Frank was looking at her in surprise. This little girl was the brightest, happiest little soul he had ever met – and unlike some spirits he had encountered, showed not a trace of trauma that hinted at her cause of death.

“You live at the Dammers house?” he asked.

She nodded again.

“How...” Frank paused, choosing his words carefully, “How did you get to be a ghost, Grace, did it happen a long time ago?”

She frowned.

“I think so.... I don't know.”

“And you don't have a family?”

“Yes I do!” she said firmly, stepping closer as she shimmered blue in the sunlight and looked up at him, “Grandma is sad and Daddy cries for me all the time. I want him to stop being sad!”

Frank blinked.

“That house is full of ghosts?”

She just looked at him for a moment, unsure of how to reply.

“Your Daddy cries because he misses you? Why can't he see you, if you're all ghosts?”

His question was met by a confused look from the little girl. She was way too young to understand how complex the spirit world could be...

“Maybe I can help you all,” Frank offered and then he turned his head in time to see neighbours pass by, giving him an odd look as they wondered why he appeared to be speaking to thin air. He turned his back to them and looked down at Grace once more.

“I think I can help - if you let me try.”

As he said that, he hoped that maybe, if he could persuade a grieving ghost father and grandmother that little Grace was okay and reunite them, maybe one of the older ghosts would be willing to do some hauntings for him- that would certainly bring in some work...It would be win – win!

But Grace was ready to go.

“Bye bye!” she said brightly, and she turned and sped across the street in a blur, vanishing through the brickwork of the house where the Dammers family lived. Why did it have to be _their_ house? Of all the places he could have stumbled on ghosts, it had to be the one place in town he couldn't set foot. Now he had two reasons to knock on the door again, firstly to see Milton and tell him he was sorry, and secondly to try and help that spirit family, and maybe find new haunting buddies in the process...

Then he heard the very earthly laughter of his daughters, and turned back in dismay as they ran about the garden, and as they tossed pieces of paper into the air that began to flutter to the lawn, part scattered about by the warm breeze, he ran back up the path and crossed over to the lawn.

“Stop it, girls!” he said, gathering up his business cards, “Don't do that, I need these cards!”

“Bye, Frank!” he heard his wife call, and he looked over in time to see Lucy give a wave as she got into the car. The girls were still laughing as Frank hurriedly picked up his cards, and as he chased them about the garden and his daughters laughter filled the air, for a short while he didn't think about the Dammers house, or about that sense of anger that came from the place as he gathered up the cards that were scattered to the four corners of the lawn.

Beth Dammers had heard the kids laughing across the street, and looked out the window to catch a glimpse of Bannister trying to save business cards as the breeze snatched them up and his playful kids looked on. She turned from the partly shaded view obscured by trees, and made her way back into the hallway, her thoughts now back in a time before, when this house had not been silent and there had been love and joy and a sense of family unbroken. Her heart ached as much as her body did as she thought of Milton, upstairs and deeply unconscious. She longed to look into his eyes, to hear his voice... and to fear it would never happen would be as bad as giving up on him, she had decided that long ago. She turned for the stairs, as she reminded herself this wasn't the first time her Milt had been injured, there had been an incident two years after they married, and it had been horrific:

_This was the first time she had been informed her husband was badly hurt in the line of duty. Back then he had not been shot, this was years before Patricia Bradley put a bullet in his skull. At the time, Milton had been working on a tough case – he had infiltrated a devil worshipping cult rumoured to be involved in cannibalism. He had been deep uncover, so deep that he was barely alive by the time back up arrived and shots were exchanged and the cult members had been arrested, and four prisoners intended for sacrifice had been freed. At the time, the cult had plans to expand – they had been on the brink of inviting another fifty naive followers to join their sacred inner circle – most of those people would have wound up dead too – if not for Special Agent Dammers. But that case had taken an already damaged and traumatised man and sent him into a new depth of hell._

_When Beth saw him, the shock hit her hard, seeing him lying there in a hospital bed, new scars etched bloody into his torso, his face pale and so much fear haunting his gaze that she wondered if his sanity was gone completely. She had been told what had happened to him – when they said he had been through a terrible experience, she had recalled all he had told her about the rape years before and her first words had been, Please tell me he wasn't sexually assaulted. She had breathed a relieved sigh when they had said no, it was not exactly a sexual assault, not a rape.. but he had suffered some terrible injuries._

_And that was when they had told her the rest._

_She had gone numb inside, too shocked to speak, she could only nod as she was told she could see her husband now, and when she stood at his bedside, her heart was breaking for what had been done to his ravaged body._

_The worst of the physical damage was covered up, and the two dressings on his chest taped over the wounds and covered them completely. It wasn't life threatening damage. But it would be terrible scarring, and worse than that, it was mutilation._

_And that was just the physical impact._

_The damage to his mind would be there forever:_

_The cult had cannibal tenancies._

_Milton had been chosen for a test of loyalty, demanded by the leader._

_They needed to cut him, he had to bleed for them._

_He had to give his flesh for their feasting._

_That was why they had sliced off his nipples._

_Before this incident, Milton's body had been covered in scars from his previous dangerous encounters. But this was too much, and when he looked into her eyes and started to quietly weep as he took her hand in a shaking grip and said her name, she saw it reflected in his eyes:_

_That damage went deeper than flesh._

_She had whispered that everything would be okay, she had promised he was safe now. It had taken months of care for his wounds both physical and mental to heal enough for him to come home._

_He had returned to work two years later._

_Beth had begged him not to go back, but he was determined to carry on. This wasn't the masochist in him - that was the urgency in his voice that whispered to her in bed when he said, Bite me on the shoulder when I come, draw blood, ruin my orgasm! Other times he would ask her to play with his cock for hours, then just as he was at the point of no return, he begged her to slap his hardness, slap it sharply, deny him the bliss of an uninterrupted orgasm..._

_That was the masochist in Milton Dammers._

_But this, the need to play with fire, with the fear and the need to go beyond his own pain barrier of the job required, suggested he trod a thin line between sanity and madness, never knowing when the line had been crossed. He feared more pain and suffering but wanted to wipe it out by risking his life for his country, to be the best, to fight the good fight – and if there was pain and nudity and forced orgasms along the way, he would do what ever it took to_ _bring these loony groups of sadists down – and how much of it his fucked up mind enjoyed, she would never know. But she did know he was afraid constantly._

 _By the time he had taken his last job, he was barely holding it together. Every little thing was a jolt that provoked some kind of flashback or memory of one of many terrible experiences. His boss had said he should think about taking some time out after the job was done, have more therapy, maybe take some time away from work to simply be with his family. Everyone knew he had_ _been through too much._

_But then it was too late, because he had taken that bullet and now he was locked in a coma. So much had happened since then, and she had always been careful what she said to him, as she hoped he could still hear her voice. She was sure he reacted, the doctors had said he was halfway to regaining consciousness. He didn't just lie there doing nothing, he grabbed at the sheets, he tossed and turned, he fought as if trying to make his way up to the surface from deep under water. He could breathe on his own, he could move, sometimes his eyes began to open, he made sounds, sighs, quiet moans, he was almost with her and yet not quite there..._

As Beth reached the bedroom door, she pushed aside the sad memories, smiling as she recalled the day she had told him she was pregnant. He had looked shocked and stunned and then he had grabbed her and kissed her and held her tightly. His hand had rested on her belly as he vowed he would be the best father. Of course he intended to be the best, he wanted to be the best at everything he cared about, the best husband, the best father, the best agent in the FBI – but that need to loyally serve and to be the best had led to this, and that thought made her smile faded as she entered the room. 

Milton was on his side, breathing slowly. His eyes were closed and for now, he wasn't fighting some invisible force. 

Out in the hallway, the phone was ringing. She stepped out of the room quickly, worried the sudden noise might upset Milton, and quickly lifted the phone from its cradle on the wall.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” said a familiar voice, and her heart warmed instantly. 

“Samantha,” she said fondly, “It's so good to hear from you! Why haven't you been over here? It's been a week!”

There was a pause as Danny's girlfriend gathered her thoughts.

“It's just that we've been together a long time, and I do love him, Beth – but we both need to think about the future, about our studies – we know the rest can wait.”

“You two need to be teenagers,” she reminded her, “You need to have some fun, to go out, to enjoy being in love!”

“I know that. Just tell Danny I called.. I'll see him tonight, maybe, if he's not busy?”

”I'll certainly let him know,” Beth said warmly, and as she said goodbye to Samantha, she felt a sinking sensation that too much had happened for this family to _ever_ be normal and happy again...

Just then she heard the front door close and as Daniel hurried up the stairs, she met him in the upper hall.

“Samantha called,” she told him, “She said she's free tonight. I think you should go and see her. Maybe take her out, have some dinner?”

Danny gave a heavy sigh.

“Stop trying to pretend we can just be happy,” he said to her, “How can anything ever be normal for any of us?”

“You can try!” Beth said sharply, “That's why we're alive, Danny – life is for living, not for...” she stopped right there shaking her head, “Just see her, please? I only want happiness for the two of you. Life can be short.”

Danny nodded, but his reply was not enthusiastic.

“I'll call her later,” was all he said, and then he headed off to his room. 

Now Danny had gone, for a moment Beth lingered in the doorway of Milton's room, watching him as he lay there looking as if he was resting. She went in quietly and leaned over him and kissed his cheek.

“I miss you,” she whispered.

Then a knock sounded on the door, and she left his room and went downstairs. 

As Beth opened up the door, she stared in disbelief: 

Bannister – again?

“Please,” Frank said as he stood there with his kids at his side and she glared back at him, “ _Don't_ start yelling, the kids are with me... I just want to see Milton. I need to tell him I'm sorry! Please, Mrs Dammers, will you let me apologise, I need to say it, I know he will hear me!”

She was still glaring at him, rage building at the thought of the nerve of this guy to knock here again. Then Frank spoke again, and what he said changed her mind.

“Maybe, if he hears my voice, it might provoke a reaction Maybe, it might even help him on some level. Will you please let me try?”

He had a point there. Maybe it  _would_ help. There was nothing to lose by trying. Beth said nothing, nodding slowly as she stepped back and opened the door wider, inviting him inside...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It felt strange for Frank, entering this quiet bedroom to suddenly be face to face with Dammers, the man who would have killed him last time they met – certainly, he had shot him with several bullets to try and take him down, believing him to be the killer – Milton had pursued him relentlessly, and only that bullet fired by Patricia had stopped him in the end – but four years later, as he stood there watching Milton Dammers as he lay in bed with his eyes closed and his head turned as if sleeping, Frank got a whole new perspective on the situation:

_It wasn't as if Dammers had come along and decided to stop him from doing what was right – he had simply got the wrong idea about what was going on, and wrongly labelled him as the murderer, and acted accordingly. He was just doing his job. Frank didn't doubt Milton would have made a great ally if there had been more time and opportunity for him to see the truth of the matter, but it had not worked out that way. And although he was reminded of the night they clashed every time he saw the bullet wounds in his own side, Frank knew he would never have to look at the kind of terrible scars Milton carried. He had never seen them before, only heard about it from Lucy. But now as he looked at him and saw the markings carved into his flesh, he realised just how much pain this guy had been through in order to do his job and serve his country..._

Somewhere beyond this room, he heard Milton's son speaking angrily about _That fucking Bannister, in this house again,_ as his mother spoke calmly, explaining to her son to keep out of this, because maybe, he was right, maybe hearing his voice would provoke a response...

Frank honestly didn't care if Danny Dammers had stormed in at that moment and landed a punch on him. Nothing could have prepared him for seeing Milton like this, with his scars exposed, lying helpless in that bed. Frank took a step closer, paused before speaking as he looked to the other side of the bed, where monitors tracked his vital signs. There was an IV in his arm, if he had any other tubes or lines, he couldn't see them. The sheets were down to his waist and his eyes were closed. He still looked the same as Frank recalled on last seeing him, except for the scar on the side of his head, that was a new one, where a bullet had been removed. That was visible, because he still had the sharp, shaved hair back and sides, the top was longer, and neatly groomed. Clearly his wife spent a lot of time taking care of him, and he looked comfortable, too. Frank took a deep breath and began to speak, hoping Milton could hear him.

“Last time I saw you, it didn't go to plan,” he began, taking another step closer as he looked down at him, “You got it wrong, Milton. It wasn't me who killed those people. I told you I don't kill people, _why_ didn't you believe me? And you never should have set Johnny Bartlett's ashes free. It just made more of a mess for me to clear up – as you probably know. And I'm telling you the truth when I say this : I _didn't_ know you were standing behind me when Patricia pulled that gun. By the time I saw you, I also saw that you had a gun pointed at me! I know you couldn't see through me, but I was hoping if I ducked and ran, you'd see her standing there and do the same. You're FBI, _why_ did you just freeze like that? She shot you! And on the subject of shooting, I had four bullets dug out of me that day, but I later found out you didn't shoot to kill. So I guess that makes both of us not killers, right?”

Frank paused, looking down at Milton, who carried on breathing easily with his eyes closed.

“I was hoping that maybe hearing my voice might help you,” Frank added, “I don't even mind if you blame me, if you hate me – if it's enough to wake you up, fine. I just want you to wake up so you can be with your family. They love you.”

Milton's body tensed. He turned on his side, breathing hard as his hand curled into a fist and he thumped the bed, then crushed the sheets in a surprisingly powerful grip. Frank took a step back, glancing to the open door. But Beth was still talking further down the hall as she tried to calm her irate son.

“What do I do?” Frank said as he watched Milton turn on his back, then struggle as if caught in a nightmare.

Then the unmistakeable cold hand of a ghost tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned quickly, gasping in alarm to see Milton's glowing translucent form glaring at him.

“ _Boo!”_ he said in a voice laced with bitter sarcasm.

Frank was breathing harder as he stepped back, then glanced over his shoulder again.

_Yes, Dammers was still in that bed, still alive and shaking as his hands clenched into fists... just like his spirit was doing the same...How was this happening?_

“I seem to be trapped,” Milton said as he glared at him darkly, “ _You_ did this to me, Bannister! _You let me get shot and now I'm stuck in limbo!_ ”

He lunged, shoving Frank, who tumbled backwards, falling against the night stand as the lamp fell and medication bottles rolled about the floor. Then the ghostly form was on top of him, leaning in as he grabbed at his shirt and glared hard.

“ _It's my turn now!”_

“ _I'm trying to help you!”_ Frank protested.

He aimed a punch and Frank ducked. Milton's face took on a look of dismay as his fist vanished through the floor. He pulled it out again, and his form flew backwards in a blue shimmer, went through the wall and bounced back out as he looked bewildered at Frank. And Frank had just noticed something about him, and now he understood the problem...

“You're not dead,” he stated, indicating to the cord that ran from Milton's spirit to his body, “I think the shooting pushed you out, and you're struggling to get back in.”

Milton's expression changed to one of panic as he looked back at Frank and tugged on the cord.

“It won't let me go! I never believed in your ghost theories... until I _became_ one! _DO SOMETHING!_ ”

Frank stood there amid the chaos of the scattered bottles and the broken lamp as he looked back at him.

“You're not dead,” he repeated, “You can go back into your body – I think that's why you cant wake up! You need to slip back in and -”

“ _I CAN'T!”_ Milton yelled, _“Do you think I haven't tried, countless times?”_

He surged forward, passing through Frank as he aimed for his body on the bed. His body started to fight like crazy, lashing out as if caught in a violent nightmare. Milton's ghost flew back across the room, went through the wall and bounced back in again, that cord tensing and flexing like a bungee rope. He stood there looking exhausted and desperate as Frank stared at him.

“You're trying too hard.”

Rage fired up in Milton's ghostly gaze as the room went cold and he fixed dark eyes on his former enemy.

“ _Too hard?_ You have _no_ understanding of my determination to live! I have tried summoning the power of my mind, using all I learned during my years of torture at the hands of more than one mystical cult – and even _that_ did nothing to help me! Don't talk to me about trying too hard, I can never try hard enough to break out of this limbo!”

Frank looked at him, saying nothing for a moment as he hoped Milton could feel the compassion and sympathy he conveyed for the guy. Milton Dammers was obsessed with being the best, his loyalty was fierce and so was his dedication. And that had risen to obsessional levels after all he had endured in the course of his dangerous career. Now it was probably making him into his own worst enemy – he was trying so hard to get back into his body, that as soon as body and spirit met, they clashed and his body fought against him as hard as he was fighting to get back in. That was why he thrashed about on that bed, and that was why his ghostly form was starting to weaken as he stood there, not so brightly glowing any more.

“It's happening again!” he said in alarm as he stared to fade.

“That's because you need to build up your energy -”

Frank stopped talking. There was no point carrying on, because Milton's ghost had vanished, for now invisible and weak as he recovered his energy.

Frank turned back to the bed and looked down at Milton's body. Now he was on his side and resting once more, relaxed as he breathed in and out, his eyes closed and not a trace of tension left in his body.

“I'll try to help you,” he promised, “There must be something I can do, just give me some time to think...”

“ _What the hell happened in here?”_

He turned around. Beth had just walked into the room, she saw the state of the floor with the lamp and the bottles scattered and glared at Frank as she was joined by Danny, who looked angrily at him.

“ _What did you do?”_ he yelled.

He was ready to swing a punch, but Beth caught his arm and shot him a warning look, it was enough to shut him up as she stepped forward and confronted Frank.

“What happened just now?” she said.

He looked from Beth to her son. This was going to be hard to explain...

“It's like this... I don't know if you believe me, but I can see ghosts. And Milton isn't dead, obviously – but he's got this issue...he's separated from his body -”

Beth's eyes grew wide as she looked at the man responsible for his shooting, struggling to hold back her anger. She felt sure if they were not standing in the room where Milton was lying in bed, she would have slapped his face for talking about his claims to be a psychic...

“You said you came here to try and wake him up – and now what, you're trying to charge a fee for some kind of paranormal bullshit?”

“No!” Frank exclaimed, “No, I swear I'm _not_ trying to do that! I wouldn't take your money if you offered it! I saw him, I saw Milton – he's fighting so hard to reunite his spirit with his body that he's got himself stuck in some kind of limbo! I need to try and find a way to help him overcome this – he's stronger than you think, Beth. And I think you know what I mean when I say Milton is an all or nothing kind of guy. But right now, that's working against him. I can help him, I just need to come up with a plan.”

Something shimmered behind Beth, just a short distance from where Danny stood.

“Want me to throw him out now, Mom?” he asked Beth.

Frank saw a faint outline of Milton Dammers as he struggled to hold his ghostly form visible.

“He's here now, he's right here, next to your son!” Frank said urgently.

Danny turned his head, seeing nothing. Beth did the same, but then as she turned back to Frank, she wondered why she felt, just for a moment, that maybe her husband was standing there...

“Prove it!”

Frank looked to Milton.

“Help me, so I can help you - say something!”

Milton looked to his wife as emotion flooded though his soul and for a moment, he fought to hold back tears.

“Tell her I love her.”

“I need more than that. Something only the two of you would know.”

Milton paused for thought. Then he spoke, and his words came out in an intense emotional flood:

“ _Tell her no one ever brought me to climax the way she did! Tell her I loved the way she slapped me and denied me a full orgasm! Tell her the only time we didn't bring pain into the bedroom was the night Danny was conceived!”_

There was a mix of intensity, desperation and emotional nostalgia in his dark eyes as he rattled off those facts. Frank looked to Beth who had her son standing beside her. This would be tough...

“Um... Frank said something intimate. I think you might want to step out of the room, Danny...”

“I'm not going anywhere!”

Frank gave a heavy sigh. It had been tough enough in the past, relaying messages from dead people to living relatives, but this time, the ghost wasn't even dead, and the message went _way_ beyond a requirement for mild tact...

“Just tell me!” Beth demanded.

“He said...” Frank felt his face flush, he couldn't look her in the eye.

“Milton said you used to slap him at a certain time...in a... certain place... and the only night you didn't do that for him, was the night you conceived your son.”

She gave a small gasp. Now it was her turn to blush. Danny shot his Mom an angry glance.

“ _And you both yelled at me for looking at a book about medieval torture when I was fourteen?”_ he exclaimed.

“What?” said Frank, and looked away from Dammers son as he focused on Beth.

“Long story and not relevant,” Beth said dismissively, and then she turned the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“But yes,” she fought back tears as her heart filled with hope she barely dared to cling to, “You're right. Everything you just said is true...” she blinked as a tear ran down her face.

“Where is he?”

“Behind you,” Frank replied.

She turned around, searching the space beside her son, seeing nothing.

“Milton?”

He was glowing brighter now, and as he saw a look of love and sadness on his face Frank felt surprised, this was the first time he had seen Dammers display such a depth of feeling.

“I love you,” Beth whispered.

“I love you too, Bethany,” Milton replied as his voice choked with tears, “Tell her I said that, Frank!”

“He just said I love you too, Bethany,” Frank told her.

“And tell her I will come back to her. I want to hold her...I want everything to be like it used to be! And also... tell my son I have plenty to say to him!” his voice hardened, “I'm fully aware of _everything_ he's done!”

This was awkward. He had no clue what Milton was talking about, but he knew that needed to be watered down, it was simply too emotional at this time to mention any kind of anger on Milton's part.

“He said he's determined to get back to you, he longs for things to be like they were. He wants to hold you in his arms.....” he looked from Beth to her son, “And he also said he has a lot he wants to talk to you about as soon as he's awake.”

Danny nodded, hoping this guy was for real. Although what he had said to his Mom had raised a question...

“Is my Dad _kinky?_ ” he asked in a shocked voice.

“I think you're old enough to work _that_ one out!” Beth snapped in reply.

“ _Frank, it's happening again!”_

Milton was trying to fight it, but his energy was waning and his form was fading out.

He vanished, and Frank looked back at Beth.

“He's gone now – he's worn himself out, it will take a while for his spirit to manifest again. Have you noticed anything strange happening lately, lights going out, doors closing, maybe knocking on the walls? I think he's been trying to communicate with you for a long time.”

“Bulbs often blow and the lights flicker,” Beth said as her son nodded in agreement, “And a window slammed on its own... sometimes, I've heard doors slam at night... it's really him? Milton's doing this?”

Beth was struggling to believe, but she wanted to believe - Frank could not have known anything about their sex life and Milton had just proved he was still alive, not in his body, not quite, but he was still there and determined to wake up... it was dawning on her now, the realisation that Frank was for real, and she finally had something to hope for.

“You have to do more!” she said urgently, “Help him to wake up!”

“I will try,” Frank assured her, “But I need to find a way to do that. I haven't got a plan yet. But trust me, I'll do all I can to help.”

Danny had started to pick up the medication and place it back on the night stand. Beth stepped closer to Frank, hope shining in her eyes along with tears shed out of sheer joy to know her husband could communicate with her.

“How soon?” she asked.

“As soon as I come up with something,” Frank replied, “This needs some careful planning...By the way, do you know anything about the history of this house?”

She paused for thought.

”What does this have to do with Milton?”

“Nothing,” Frank replied, “She's on a different plane to him, she's a departed spirit and he's not – he won't be able to see her. I was just curious. Because it feels rather active. I think there could be another spirit here somewhere, a small child? I'm guessing she was from way back, she's around three to four years old wears an old fashioned white dress? She seems happy, but I just wondered if you knew who she might be.”

Danny was picking up the broken lamp.

Beth thought about Frank's question.

“I did look into the history of this place,” she said, “It belonged to a family back in the thirties, but they had four sons. Then a couple lived here for many years and they had no children. Nothing bad has ever happened, certainly no little girl died here.”

Frank nodded.

“Well, she seems happy for a ghost,” he replied, “Maybe she just likes to stop by, I don't know – it's hard it find out much from one so young. But you don't have to worry about her, she's not scary. More like a little ray of sunshine, I've never seen a ghost so bright in spirit before.”

Suddenly all this talk about ghosts came easily to Beth, as she smiled warmly at Frank, he had given her proof and now, she wanted him back here as soon as possible, because she believed he wanted to help – and maybe with his help, Milton would wake up...

“I'm willing to trust you, Frank,” she told him.

“Thanks,” Frank replied, “You can be sure I'll do all I can.”

Just then the twins ran to the bottom of the stairs.

“Daddy!” called Abigail, “We saw a friend!”

“I'd better go,” Frank said, and he paused to glance at Milton, who was still on his side, his eyes closed as he breathed evenly.

“I'll be back soon,” he said, and that was a promise to Milton more than to Beth as he said goodbye and left the room, then went downstairs to the kids, who had grown tired of waiting for their father.

“We have a new friend!” said Rose.

“But she disappeared,” added Abigail, “And her name is Grace.”

They had just left by the front door. Frank looked about the shady garden, but saw no trace of the smiling ghost girl.

“Where did she go?”

“We don't know,” Rose added.

“Maybe you'll see her again,” Frank told the kids, then he took them by the hand and led them down the path and out the gate and headed for home across the street.

Later that night, while the twins were sleeping soundly, the house was silent save for the turning of pages as Lucy lay in bed next to Frank reading a book. It was about the history of their town. He had already asked her about this street, and a little girl called Grace. Lucy had shook her head. There was nothing in this book about ghosts, she had told him. Lucy had been quiet since Frank had broken the news that he could see Dammer's spirit. She still recalled the night she had been cuffed in his car, as Dammers had announced plans to stay there for eleven hours – ensuring Frank, who he wrongly believed to be the killer, would die in the freezer unit..

“What was he like?” she asked as she put the book down and turned on her side, looking into the eyes of her husband.

“Dammers? The same – except he knows the truth now, he knows I'm not a killer and he was chasing the wrong suspect!”

“And he's apologised to you for shooting you back when he thought you were behind the killings?”

Frank hesitated.

She gave a weary sigh.

“He hasn't even said sorry!”

“Give him a chance, Lucy! I know he held you against your will – he was trying to protect you, from me! He got it all wrong. Right now, he's more concerned about getting back into his body than thinking about apologising for past mistakes. He's been trapped for four years.”

“Do you think you can help him?” she asked.

“I hope so,” Frank replied, “I need to come up with a plan – I don't have one yet.”

Lucy leaned closer and kissed him, feeling thankful that her husband was so kind and willing to help others – back when he had stumbled across the murders, he could have walked away and chosen not to involve himself. But he didn't do that. He had wanted to stop Johnny and Patricia, and he had risked his own life to do so. Even now, he was willing to help the man who had done nothing but falsely accuse him and hunt him down, refusing to believe he was anything less than guilty when Frank had protested his innocence multiple times.

“Stop thinking about it, just for tonight!” she told him softly, and before he could protest, her kisses soft and sweet traced a path down his body as she slid under the sheets and took him in her mouth. Frank lay back and closed his eyes as Lucy brought him to a slow and intense orgasm, and for once, his mind was not on the house across the street, or the spirits trapped there.

_Day followed day and nothing changed._

Now Frank felt awkward, leaving the house to see Beth catching a glimpse of him, just looking at him, watching and waiting for his help, as he felt pressure to come up with a plan and politely gave a wave as as he got into his car. He took a drive into town alone because Lucy had the day off and she had the twins at home, and he parked outside the police station, hesitating before going inside. He still felt a little traumatised by the experience four years back of being accused of murder. Of being interrogated by Agent Dammers. That had left him in a state of shock as he had lay there on a bed in a cell, wondering if his life was over, if he would spend the rest of it in jail as he saw no way out of his situation. Back then, he had been willing to shoot himself before Lucy had suggested freezing him temporarily to enable him to go out of body and pursue the soul collector:

_He remembered what it had felt like to be out of his body._

_He had been dead, separated from his mortal being and while the experience had been a strange sense of freedom, he had desperately wanted to wake up back in his flesh and bones, back with the living. He understood what a nightmare Dammers was trapped in. He had to get him out of that situation..._

But that wasn't his reason for visiting Sheriff Perry.

He sat down in his office and pushed aside the bad memories as they talked like old friends and Perry reminded him that he was more than happy to help with the book. His deputy brought in coffee and left again, and Perry smiled as he looked across the desk at Frank.

“How's the book going?”

“It's off to a good start,” Frank lied, “These things take time...”

Then he turned the conversation to the reason for his visit.

“Actually, I'm here because I wanted to look into the house where the Dammers family live – while I was over there I noticed there's a spirit present – more than one. The one I'm asking about is a little girl, she's about the same age as my twins, maybe younger, and her name is Grace.”

Perry looked at him with interest. There had been a time when he laughed at claims that Frank was psychic, but after all that had happened four years back, he now believed.

“I've been sheriff of this town for many years,” he reminded him, “And there's nothing amiss with that property, Frank, I grew up around here and I remember the people who used to live there. No little girl ever died in that house. In fact no one called Grace has ever died at such a young age around here – I know all the stories, all the tragedies and the accidents and the murders over the years – no child called Grace is among them.”

“That's odd,” Frank replied, “Because she's definitely a small child. Sometimes when I see ghosts I can see how they died, they carry an imprint of their wounds on their image... but not her. There's not a mark on her, and she's so bright, her soul is sparkling... I don't think I've ever seen a ghost so bright before. And she's happy, too! I don't understand why she's here, why she didn't go to the light.”

“Maybe she had a happy life and wanted to stay around.”

“No,” Frank said as he paused to sip his coffee, “There has to be more – she's so young, she wouldn't choose to stay around unless she had unfinished business. She said her father and grandmother can't find her. I'm assuming they are somewhere close by, but separated from her for some reason. I've never come across a case like this.”

“You're calling it a case now?” Perry said with interest, “I'll tell you what I'll do, Frank – I'll take a look through all the records I can find and if I dig anything up on Grace, I'll call you.”

“Thanks,” Frank replied, “I really need help with this.”

“You said there was more than one spirit at that house? Do Beth and Danny know it's haunted?”

Frank paused. He knew his reply would come as a shock.

“The other ghost I've seen is Milton Dammers. He's separated from his body and can't seem to get back. I think that's why he's been stuck in the coma for so long. I told him I'm going to try and help him, but I don't know how to do that yet.”

Perry fell silent for a moment, regarding the steam as it rose from his coffee as he spent a moment in deep thought.

“Agent Dammers was the best in his field, but a very tormented man,” he replied, “He's seen such horrors, I can't begin to imagine what it must be like to go through all the stuff he's witnessed and endured. Maybe that's the reason why he's trapped...” sadness reflected in his gaze as he lowere dhis voice, “I've been over there, I've paid my respects, seen him lying there looking like he's already gone. Maybe he doesn't want to come back and he just doesn't know it. Maybe he's done with this life. He's suffered, Frank. I don't like to say it might be too late to help him, but perhaps he can't come back.”

Frank was surprised at how sad that suggestion made him feel. He wanted Milton to get his life back, and Perry just didn't know how determined Milton was to embrace life again.

“I've seen him,” Frank replied, “He's literally fighting like crazy to unite his spirit with his body. He's determined to live – maybe too determined. He's fighting so hard he wears himself out and then he can't slip back in. And so it goes on, day after day... I need to find a way to break that. He has to get back into his body without thinking about struggling to achieve it. I'm not sure if I can help him do that.”

“He was always such a great believer in the power of the mind,” Perry replied, “It's surprising he's in this mess.”

Something in what Perry had just said had sparked an idea. He needed to work on it, but now he felt hopeful that maybe there could be a way to solve this...

“That might hold the key,” Frank replied, “I'm just not sure how.”

After leaving the sheriff's office, Frank got back into his car and took a drive to the cemetery. These days he drove more carefully, because once he got together with Lucy, he had her safety to think about. He had his own safety, too – and now, the twins as well. Falling in love and starting a new life had put a new perspective on everything. He was more cautious. He remembered he had a family to think about. His days of reckless driving were over.

He parked the car and got out, then took a path away from the older graves and the more active side of the cemetery. There was a funeral going on across the other side of the place, but he wasn't about to join the edge of the gathered crowd of mourners and scatter his business cards – those days were over, too. Although, if he could find a hint of who Grace was, maybe he could unite her with her family and then, maybe he could enlist their help to pull a few ghostly pranks and get some work out of it. That was something he missed from the old days, and it wasn't just for the money. He missed having ghostly companions around.

Frank searched the graves.

Looking at graves of children was always sad, the sense of loss of so much potential life to be lived that had been snatched away... But these graves were always quiet. No spirits lingered. Children always went to the light - except Grace, and he didn't know why. Most of the graves were many years old, he read through all the names.

There was no one called Grace.

Frank left the cemetery and drove home. Shortly after he got back, the sheriff called. He had searched the records. He could find nothing relating to the mysterious little girl named Grace.

Across the street, Beth was feeling happier than usual – because over the past few days, Danny and his girlfriend had spent more time together. They had gone out again that morning planning to spend the day in town. It was about time her son started living again, she decided. She didn't want him to spend the rest of his life looking back at the misery of the past – he was eighteen years old, and he needed to be young and happy and put as much of the past behind him as he could, because he had a lifetime ahead of him and the last thing she wanted him to do was spend it wrapped in sadness.

She was upstairs, and she went from her room to the one next door, and sat down on the edge of the bed and took hold of Milton's hand. It felt like such a peaceful moment as she sat there, leaned over him and kissed his cheek. The breeze came in softly through the windows as sunlight fell in muted through the net curtains. Milton was restful that day, and seeing him peaceful and not struggling was a relief. Today, he seemed to be resting well and if he was dreaming, no nightmares troubled him.

“Frank's going to help us,” she reminded him as she stroked his hair, “We just have to be patient. We have to wait. It could take a while for him to come up with a plan.”

Then she gave a gasp as the covers were wrenched down sharply to his waist, exposing his scarred body. The room had turned icy cold and her eyes grew wide as new wounds began to open up on his chest and bleed, as if carved by an invisible blade, spelling out a message. She stood up, letting go of his hand as she stared in horror. Across his chest, words had been carved deep and bloody:  
 _HELP ME NOW FRANK!_

It had been etched with a blade, right across his chest in capital letters, even cutting into the scars were his nipples had been sliced off years before. The icy atmosphere lifted a she gave a sob, and as she reached out with a shaking hand to touch the wounds, they vanished from his chest, leaving behind only the old permanent scarring as it had been before..

_Milton had made that happen?_

She sobbed again as she looked about the room, unable to see with the sixth sense of Frank Bannister.

“ _Don't_ do that to yourself, Milton!” she said tearfully, “Okay, I understand, you can't wait any longer! I'll go and tell him!”

As she hurried from the room, Milton's glowing spirit stood in a shade of blue, his dark eyes burning with pain and regret for making Beth weep. But he had been so impatient, so desperate for a result and when she had said they had to wait, he knew he couldn't wait any longer. This was a living form of death. His gaze shifted to his body lying on the bed, then to the window and the view of the house across the street as tearful Beth ran across the road to find Frank.

“ _Hurry up Frank!”_ he said in desperation, _“Either wake me up or let me die, I can't suffer this any longer!”_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Seeing Beth Dammers on the doorstep and tearful, and hearing her demand to see Frank as she said some scary stuff was happening, was enough for Lucy to know they couldn't handle this together. Frank needed to go over there right now, and she had to stay behind with the girls, because after hearing Beth say the message was carved into his flesh, she didn't want her kids anywhere near that house until this was resolved. She called to Frank and then took the kids into the garden where she made a huge effort to pretend nothing was wrong, that she had _not_ heard such horrific details of how Milton's flesh had opened up and bled the message, pleading for her husband's help. All she knew for sure was that Dammers was desperate – but at least he was asking for Franks help now, and that made her feel a little easier about him going over there - if _easier_ was the right word after all she had just heard from Beth...

“Be careful,” she said as Frank left the house with Beth, and he glanced back at her, giving a nod as the kids wanted to follow Daddy and Lucy had to tell them no, not right now, Daddy was busy...

“What happened?” Frank said as they crossed the street and headed for the house where the front door was still wide open.

Beth walked quickly beside him, leading the way through the gate as she wiped her eyes.

“It started appearing on his chest, like someone was carving him up with a knife, but it was him, it was Milton, he wrote _Help me now, Frank!_ And then it vanished, the cuts, the blood – and that's when I came over to fetch you.”

They had reached the house. Beth went in first and Frank followed and closed the door behind them.

“Where's Danny?”

“He's out with his girlfriend. I was alone when it happened, no one else saw it.”

“And Milton's okay now?”

She nodded.

“There's no trace of the writing now. All his other scars are still there, but the message is gone.”

That made sense to Frank.

“It was a psychic manifestation – an illusion, it wasn't real. But he must be desperate to do that. What happened right before the words appeared on his body?”

She looked sadly at him.

I was talking to him and I said that you'd be able help him, but we had to wait... I don't think he can be patient after four long years.”

“No, you don't have to wait,” Frank replied as he looked up the staircase, thinking again about what Perry had said about Milton and his belief in the power of the mind. He had been hit by a sudden idea, and there was no time to explain.

“I think I can help him, I have an idea, it might work – but I want you to wait outside in the hallway.”

Beth looked at Frank in alarm.

“You think I can't handle this? Seeing words slashed into my husbands chest was upsetting, but I used to be FBI - I'm sure I can handle a little psychic phenomenon! It's not as if he wants to fight you, he wants to wake up and he needs your help!”

“I know that,” Frank replied, “But he's fighting himself, too. And I may have to say some things that are not nice to hear if I'm going to persuade him to unite with his body without thinking too much about it. I can't talk him into it with gentle persuasion, Beth. I have to make him angry. I have to say some nasty things and you might not want to hear that. Also, it will be more believable if you're out of the room when I try this. Please just trust me?”

She had no other choice. Beth nodded.

“I'll be right outside the door,” she told him.

Frank was already heading up the stairs.

He paused at the top to check his reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall, he still looked as good as he did four years back, but for extra effect, he opened up a couple of buttons on his shirt and ran a hand over his hair, then he turned from the mirror and went on to Milton's room. Beth had caught up with him by now.

“I'll stand right here,”she told him as she waited anxiously in the hallway.

“I can only try this once,” Frank explained, “We just have to hope it works.”

Then he went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him, ready to try out his wild theory:

_Milton could slide back into his body if he wanted to. He just needed to be solidly focused on something else at the time, so the fusion happened almost as an afterthought – and he felt sure what he was about to do stood a very good chance of being the distraction and the motivation Dammers needed..._

_This had to work._

_If it didn't, he had no back up plan._

Frank paused to take a slow breath and compose his thoughts, then he looked about the empty room. Milton was in bed, on his back and looking as if asleep. He could sense his spirit was close by – where else would it be, he had no where else to go... but for now, he was invisible.

Frank remembered his plan and began to speak.

“I got your message,” he said aloud, looking about the room, “You want my help right now, you're desperate to wake up – I understand that, but I still don't know how I'm going to bring you back...” he walked past the bed, standing in the middle of the room as he looked about again.

“ _You need to learn some patience, Milton.”_

And his shimmering form appeared, glowing electric blue as he leaned in, glaring angrily at Frank.

“ _Patience?_ ” he fumed, “I'm _desperate_ , Frank! You can't just leave me here like this, you said you could help!”

“And I will, when I have a plan,” Frank replied, stepping back and looking casually at Milton, then he started to smile.

“If it's your _wife_ you're worried about, don't be. I mean, I'm only across the street and if she needs someone, I'm close at hand... and after four years with Lucy, and her popping out two kids, I can't say our sex life is too exciting any more. But then there's Beth, oh, she's hot!”

The look in Milton's eyes was one of pure murderous rage as he glared at Frank in fury.

“ _You're lusting after my wife?”_ he raged as his fists clenched and his shoulders shook.

“There's nothing you can do about it,” Frank said, “You're halfway between life and death. And Beth has _needs_.”

“ _You bastard!”_

Milton aimed a punch, and Frank ducked with ease, stepping back as Milton's ghostly form clumsily sailed past and turned back to face him in a swirl of glowing blue, his eyes darkening with rage.

“I noticed when you tried to hit me before,” Frank said, “You don't exactly have skills for someone outside of his body... One little thing throws you off focus and oops, you're as clumsy as a drunk and way off target! And you can't even get far – you're tied to your body!”

“I am going to _kill_ you for this!” Milton fumed.

His eyes had glittered pure pitch now, and the room had dropped to a chilly temperature. It didn't deter Frank, who felt sure he was on the right track. He walked over to the bed and leaned over Milton's body as he tensed, his mortal self shaking as his fists balled up tight and his spirit form did the same, wishing he could slam a fist into Frank's smug expression as he looked down at his body, then back at him again.

“You can't do anything to me while you're like this,” Frank said, “I could come back tonight while Lucy's sleeping and the kids are in bed, bring a bottle of wine and share it with Beth... maybe she's wearing a tight dress... something lacy underneath... remember those days, Milton?”

His ghostly form had shifted to the end of the bed, standing over his body as Frank leaned in, smirking as he looked to his spirit with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“ _I will find a way to kill you!”_ Milton vowed, “I'll _destroy_ you, Bannister!”

He made another clumsy lunge as his body struggled and his spirit form whooshed through Frank and into the wall, then sprang back as the cord that joined him to his flesh and bones went taut like elastic and then slack again, as his ghostly shape twisted and then righted itself and for a moment, he looked a little dizzy – but he was still blazing with rage.

“ _I'll find a way to end you!”_ he vowed, _“I'll learn some skills... You thought Johnny Bartlett was dangerous? Wait until you feel MY wrath!”_

“But you're not a killer.”

“ _I am now!”_

Frank stayed calm and composed, playing this out as he planned, so far it was working, he just needed to push him a little more...

“Where was I? Oh yes, your wife... _Beth_. I'll come over and get her drunk. I give it two hours tops, and she'll be down to her underwear. Maybe fifteen minutes after that, she's naked on the sofa and I'm licking her pussy. She's probably going to sit on my face, I'll make her come before I fuck her. And when I've fucked her, I'll come back for more. I think three times a week. My wife works shifts, she'll never know!”

“ _You're a dead man!”_ Milton raged.

“But you have to physically stop me, and you cant do that, you can't reach up and grab me and look me in the eye and say that, because you're just _mist_. I'm here in the land of the living and you're not, Dammers!”

“ _I'LL KILL YOU!”_ Milton raged, and Frank smirked again.

“I'd like to see you try!”

The ghostly blur lunged, then evaporated, sinking down into Milton's body.

And Milton's hands shook as they raised, then he found his strength, enough to open his eyes and reach up and grip hard at Frank's shoulders.

“ _You... won't... have... Beth!”_ he whispered.

And Frank was still there, leaning in, his eyes wide as he looked into the dark gaze of Milton Dammers, who was sweating and shaking and weakly digging his fingers into his shoulders as he managed to whisper that vow.

_And he was back in his body._

_He was awake._

“Welcome back,” Frank said in surprise, “You're back, Milton. You're awake!”

Milton felt bewildered and it showed in his panicked gaze as he looked at Frank, still gripping him, still breathing hard as the machines that tracked his vital signs picked up as he struggled to calm down. He felt as if he had just fought the hardest battle of his life – and still he had not landed a punch on Frank for all he had said about Beth, and he wanted to, but he felt too weak to do more than lay there, as his hands slipped from Frank's shoulders and he stared up at him.

“It's okay,” Frank added, “I have no intention of cheating on my wife – I love her! But I had to get you worked up enough to want to physically harm me. That gave you something else to think about as you went back into your body... Do you understand what's happened? You're awake, you're back, Milton.”

He lay there for moment, too weak and confused to process it. But it sank in slowly. Frank had said all that to make this happen. He didn't even recall sliding back into his flesh and bones, he only knew he had dived at his body, wanting his spirit and flesh to become one so he could strangle the life out of Frank... and now he was awake.

“You... _woke_ me?”

He gave a gasp, suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation that his ordeal was over. Frank felt overwhelmed too. This was a first - he had many experiences of sending lost souls into the light, but bringing someone back from the other side, restoring them to life? It was a feeling like no other.

Milton took in a breath, now he was only fighting his own weakness and frustration as he tried to speak and his voice came out as a hoarse whisper:

“Get _out_ of my personal space!”

Frank stepped back from the bed, smiling as he realised nothing had changed since Milton was in the coma. He was the same guy he had been four years earlier, but now, he felt sure they would never be enemies again.

“I'll go and fetch Beth,” he said, “And then I'll send Lucy over – she's a doctor, remember?”

He blinked away tears.

“Beth!” he whispered.

”She's outside, I'll send her in,” Frank assured him, and then he turned away, hiding the fact that he was blinking back his own tears, and as he opened up the door, all he could say to Beth was short but to the point as emotion choked his voice.

“ _He's back,”_ he said, _“I brought him back to you,”_ and as she dashed into the room and sobbed with joy as she said his name, Frank hurried down the stairs, heading for the door as he wiped his eyes, still feeling that sense of achievement and wonder that he was sure would stay with him forever:  
 _He had actually brought someone back!_

Lucy had hugged him tightly before she had left to go over the street to check on Milton. Frank was still emotional, and she completely understood why – it didn't matter the two of them had been enemies before the shooting, Frank had freed a soul from misery and that soul had his life back here on earth – a first for a psychic like her husband. It was incredible. This was a huge achievement, and one she was sure he would always be proud of. But she had to wait to examine the patient, because his wife was still overjoyed and overwhelmed and she needed a few minutes before she could step in.

Beth smiled as she blinked away tears still feeling as if she was living a dream come true as she leaned over Milton and kissed him softly. He grabbed her hand tightly and looked up at her, feeling relief food through him – her grip was solid, reminding him that he was back in his body, he was flesh and bone, there was no more being trapped between worlds.

“I said...I'd come back!” he whispered, and she saw frustration in his dark eyes as he tried to speak a little louder, but he hadn't spoken for four years and his voice was as hoarse as he was weak.

“I know,” Beth assured him as she placed a hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes, “And I didn't doubt you'd do it! You're really back with us! I love you so much!” she put her arm around him, briefly hugging him as she left his shoulder wet with her tears, then she raised her head and met his gaze again and smiled.

“You're going to be fine, it's all going to be fine, just rest, “ she glanced back at Lucy, “Doctor Lynskey is here now, I'd better let her check you over. But I'm right here, I'm not leaving your side!”

“I was scheduled to visit tomorrow anyway,” Lucy said to Beth, and then she looked at Milton, who looked back at her with a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he recalled how he had once cuffed her and tried to hold her at the cemetery while Frank was locked in the freezer. Later he had snatched her on the way to the chapel at the old hospital, determined to keep this innocent, trusting woman away from the killer Frank Bannister – he had been so wrong about everything, and he wondered if Lucy hated him for what he had done.

Lucy put her medical bag down and stepped closer to the bed.

“I'm just going to check you over and then I'll call the hospital to let them know you're awake,” she said, “And it's good to see you're back with us, Milton – I really mean that.”

As she smiled he looked away, fighting back tears as he wondered why he wanted to cry. She didn't hate him, neither did Frank. He had expected them both to detest him for all he had done, but again, he had been wrong. And Lucy had meant that when she said she was glad he was back, he knew it, he had seen it in her eyes. He had no strength left to speak. She checked him over as Beth waited patiently, then she left the room to call the hospital after briefly speaking to Beth, explaining that he would be weak for a while, he needed time to get this strength back. But it was likely he would make a good recovery. He had heard all she said, and when she left the room and Beth was back at his side, as her hand slipped into his grip he held on tightly as he gave into his emotions and wept, and Beth wiped away his tears.

The next few days were emotional for Frank as Lucy kept him updated on Milton. The former FBI agent was expected to make a good recovery, but a bullet wound to the head wasn't something he would ever completely get over – he had slight nerve damage, his hands shook sometimes, he had weakness in his right leg and would need to walk with a cane. He tired easily, and that could last for years. He would not be going back to the job he lived for and took such pride in. But he had his family at his side.

Beth was overjoyed to have her husband back, and so was their son. He would miss the old days despite the pain his work had caused him – but the shooting had been four years ago and someone else had taken over his job, because while he had been the best, once he was absent, that role had to be filled. Their former colleague Emily now had Milton's old job. Beth had told him that, and he had sulked and called Emily an opportunistic vulture, saying no one could devote their life to their work like he had – and Beth had just hugged him, reminding him she was happy he was back with them.

Milton faced months of recovery, and adjustment to a life without his dangerous job, but this was a new chapter for everyone, for Frank too – but he had decided for now to stay away, he had helped him out, he considered the grudges of the past resolved, and felt that Milton needed time with his family with no distractions...

Summer was almost at a close.

The girls would be going to school in September and that freed up a lot of time for Frank to work on the book he planned to write. So far, he hadn't even written the opening lines. He didn't know where to begin to tell the story of how he had stopped a killer and her ghostly lover, bringing their murderous spree to an abrupt end. He wanted to talk about his life here in this town, of how he had found his psychic ability – and certainly, he would not be mentioning how he had enlisted the help of ghosts to fake hauntings to get work when times were tough. He missed working as a paranormal investigator. But he also wanted to write that book – and maybe he could get started on it, _if_ the family across the street were not so strongly on his mind.

He wanted to go over there and see how Milton was getting on. But he hadn't heard from him or Beth since the day he had woken up, and Frank didn't want to intrude on what could be a difficult time as Milton recovered. He also knew there was a lot of love in that family – Beth and her son adored Milton – for all his strangeness, it seemed there certainly was somebody for everyone, Milton was living proof of that, his wife was devoted to him. And Frank didn't want to be in the way, at a time like this when the family were recovering from what had been a terrible ordeal these past four years.

The other distraction had been the mysterious ghost girl.

Grace had manifested several times, the twins could both see her, Lucy, who had been able to see ghosts ever since the traumatic events four years back, had also glimpsed her. They had spoken to the girls, asking them questions about their new friend.

_Abigail said her name was Grace, and she was nice._

_Rose said Grace said she was a princess and talked about a baby carriage._

Frank had seen Grace playing in the sunshine, the brightest shining spirit he had ever seen, and he had gone over to her and asked her questions. Like, what was her baby carriage like? Was it like the toy stroller that Rose put her dolls in? Grace had looked at him in confusion. He had asked her if she was a princess.

“Yes!” she had replied, “My Daddy said I am!”

Which was of no use to Frank at all.

He couldn't even begin to get a description of her baby carriage, or what era it was from. And didn't all loving fathers call their daughter a princess? It was a term of endearment, certainly not a hint at who Grace might be and what century she was from. He didn't want to give up on this matter, because even though she was happy little girl it still troubled her that her family was unhappy, and she wanted to be reunited with them, and she was so very young to be all on her own, a spirit stuck on earth. If the girls kept her company and she was happy to be around, that was okay – but he still wanted to try and help her, because it was the right thing to do – it was the _only_ thing a psychic could do, when a child was stuck in ghost form in the earthly realm.

Frank was in his study, still thinking about the mystery of the ghost girl when Lucy came in and closed the door quietly behind her.

“Busy?” she asked softly, and as she approached his chair, he closed the lap top down just as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, turning his head to kiss her, glad she had not seen the blank page he had been staring at all morning.

“Not really, starting this book takes time,” he replied.

She looked at him doubtfully.

“Maybe you should set it aside for a while if its bringing back bad memories.”

“I don't regret anything, a big part of the story happens around the time we first met, how could I ever associate that with bad memories?”

“But I know what you went through, I was there too.”

As she stepped back he got up from his seat and turned from the desk, putting an arm around her waist as he pulled her closer.

“I just don't want to think about the book today.”

Lucy knew him too well. There was something else on his mind, and it could only be one of two things...

“Are you worried about that little ghost girl? Because she's just fine, Frank – I heard her laughing with the girls yesterday, she's okay -”

“It's not about Grace.”

He hesitated.

“Dammers?” she guessed.

“I know it's none of my business – I only did what anyone else in my position would have done, I helped him out and now he can get on with his life, but I still need to know if he's doing okay. I feel responsible for him.”

“A colleague of mine has been over seeing his recovery. He said he's doing well. But I think after bringing him back like you did you need it see him to know for sure that he's alright.”

Frank felt slightly awkward about this. He and Milton had been enemies four years back, then he had become his saviour and now – he was just the guy who lived across the street who felt awkward about knocking on the door again...

“I want to see him, but I don't know if I should. Beth and Danny have been waiting four years for him to wake, and now he's back I think I'd be getting in the way.”

“Just go over there,” Lucy said, and she leaned in, kissing him softly to silence his protest.

“ _Go, now!”_ she said with a smile, “I'd say go later...” she leaned in, thankful for this moment of closeness that was rare in the daytime when the kids were around, “But I can't steal you away upstairs for a couple of hours as I'd like to, not with the girls running about the house -” she kissed him again and let go, and he missed her embrace instantly,“Go and see Dammers, Frank!”

“Purely on your advice, I'll do that.” he said with a smile.

Across the street, Milton was resting in bed. He was getting stronger every day, and could now walk short distances – for example, to the window, where he inched the net curtain back and peeked out, then ducked out of sight in case he was seen by Frank Bannister. He had thought about Frank and how he had saved him many times, but then it had dawned on him that he still hadn't apologised for the monumental fuck up four years back when he had accused Frank of being a killer – he later learned Frank had been trying to stop Patricia when he had attempted to arrest him, and shot him in the process. He had even flung Johnny Bartlett's ashes free of their urn, making the situation worse – and all Frank had been trying to do was help, to stop a killer and her dead lunatic boyfriend. He had never been wrong about a case before, but that time, he had been mistaken all the way – Frank had been innocent. He had learned all of these facts after he was trapped out of his body, unable to say a word to the living who had clearly stated that he had screwed up on this case...

_How could he apologise for such an error?_

_Frank had just pulled him back from a living death._

_He owed him so much thanks, and a huge apology, too..._

Milton didn't want any more mistakes. He had already spoken with his son, spoken sharply about his behaviour over the past few years. But the boy was doing well now, he was studying, he was still dating Samantha, too – they had been going strong for four years. He hadn't meant to speak so sharply when he said he was furious with him, that his behaviour had been unacceptable. But it had still taken two days after that to summon the courage to ask him to please come back into his room, because he needed to talk with him again. Then Milton had hugged him and promised him all was forgiven. He had even apologised for being so sharp with his words.

And if he could apologise to his own son, he was certain he could do the same for Frank, who had done more than enough to help him despite everything...

He was still on his mind as he sat on top of the covers, resting on his bed wrapped in a black velvet dressing gown. He had pulled it close, hiding the scars on his chest. He felt so much more aware of them now, since waking. Every time he looked at his body, he wondered what Beth saw in him. That sentiment went a little deeper since he had discovered he would not be returning to the job he had lived for and sacrificed so much for – if it was all in vain, what was he supposed to do, stand before a mirror, survey the damage to his flesh and weep?

He was still deep in those thoughts when Beth entered the room.

“You've got a visitor,” she said, “It's Frank Bannister. Shall I send him up?”

Milton paused, his dark gaze darting nervously left and right as he thought about the question. Yes, he _did_ feel he ought to see Frank, but so much of the past had flooded back, this would be difficult.

 _And he knew it had to be done. The man had saved him. He owed him thanks._ _He would work out the exact words required to apologise later..._ He took a deep breath, making a choice that would change a lot from this moment on:

“Very well, Beth,” he said, “I'll see him. Send him up.”

Beth left the room and as he heard her go down the stairs and tell Frank to go straight up, he was breaking into a sweat.

_He had so much to apologise for._

_But it was the right thing to do and he wasn't going to back out now._

_He had made enough mistakes._

_Now was the perfect time to set that right..._


End file.
